What's Yours is Mine (7 page)

Darcy backed away from the sight. It was too intimate. Will looked so raw, like he was struggling for peace. She shouldn’t know that. It was an unfair advantage, but perversely it made her like him more. He was the enemy. She had to remember that.

~*~

The doorbell rang, fracturing Will’s fragile peace of mind. He ignored it, focused on the architectural drawings spread out across the bed. Darcy could get the door. It was probably another lawyer, this one greedy enough to do her bidding. Or another disgusting fast-food delivery. Her lunch had been redolent with grease and trans fat, gray meat in a puffy bun. The air still stank from it.
 

The doorbell rang again, twice in quick succession. Darcy wasn’t answering. Dare he hope that she’d given up and left, that their latest fight had knocked some sense into her? They couldn’t survive long like this, living in each other’s laps. They knew too much about each other.
 

The bell rang again. Ding dong ding dong ding ding dong.
 

On his way to the front door, Will scanned the living room. Darcy had left food cartons on the coffee table and an unfortunate streak of grease on his couch, but she wasn’t in the room. He glanced out back and caught sight of her curled up on the big redwood patio chair, typing rapidly into a computer on her lap, bopping her head in time to whatever inane music was playing through her headphones. She looked disconcertingly happy.

The moment he swung the front door open, Janet Gillooly burst inside. “I was wondering for a moment if you’d both up and left. It would have made things a lot easier, that’s for sure. I swear I’ll find you a new home. It might take a while and not be as nice, but it’ll come without an unfortunate roommate. I’ll even throw in my fee so you’ll get an extra three percent off. A fantastic deal. I’ll do the same for either of you, I’ll do anything to make sure it works, I swear—” The words came out in a rush, like rain pattering on a roof, pouring down a gutter. Her eyes looked wild, and she mashed her purse, kneading it between restless hands.
 

Will put his hands on top of hers. “What’s going on, Janet?” Behind him, he could hear the sound of the sliding glass door as Darcy came inside.
 

“I—they’re going to fire me, Will. If one of you doesn’t leave, my job is toast.” She looked at him, then past him to Darcy. “You hate each other, don’t you? Why? I don’t get it. Did you know each other before, or was it one of those instant things, like falling in love but in reverse?”

Beside him, Darcy frowned. “Why does that matter?”

Janet turned to her, her expression stark. “If you hate each other, you won’t come to an agreement. I mean, are you going to step aside and let Will take over ownership?”

Darcy snorted.
 

Janet turned to Will, her mouth in a sad moue. “And you?”

God, he was almost tempted to say yes. Anything to escape this sticky, awful situation. He hesitated for the briefest moment.
 

Darcy’s eyes lit with anticipatory triumph.

Hell, no.
 

The wind rustled the bamboo in the courtyard. The late afternoon sun slanted through the skylight, lighting up tiny chips of silver in the blue recycled-glass countertop. A bird chirruped.
 

He looked back at Darcy, who seemed to be realizing it wasn’t going to be quite that easy. Her eyebrows turned down, her mouth tightened. Her chin looked pointier. She looked like a thwarted little girl. An amoral, ambitious, thwarted little girl.
 

He turned back to Janet. “I’m sorry. I really am. I wish there was another way.”

Janet threw herself onto the couch, crunching a cardboard french fry tube, which she tossed aside. Will hastily picked it up, gathering the other wrappers for good measure.
 

“Tim is threatening to pull all his business from the firm. Alina and Roger are threatening to have the board revoke my license. They say this mess is all my fault and should never have happened. They say this has to be fixed or else. They’re giving me two days. After that, I’m history, and you’re both still screwed, because there aren’t two of this condo, not for sale.”
 

Will looked at Darcy. “What do we do?”

Darcy ignored him. She sat down beside Janet, gently removing the mangled bag from her grip. “I guarantee Will is going be gone before your deadline. Everything will be fine. I’ve been through things like this.” She glanced at Will, then quickly away. “Something can look like—even be—a disaster, but people do forget. You may have to take a demotion, take on low-rent listings for a while. You might need to work your way back to where you deserve to be, but you won’t lose everything. Not if I can help it.” Now she gazed at Will full-on. Challenging him.
 

Will could feel the heat rising through his chest, making his head pound. There she went again, twisting things around to make it seem like he was at fault.
 

He turned and walked away. It was all he could do. Otherwise he might explode. And Will Dougherty didn’t explode. Not anymore.

~*~

Darcy sat with Janet for half an hour, brainstorming with her, giving advice on how to handle her bosses. This screwup wasn’t her fault. Or at least, not entirely. And sure, a sharper real estate agent might have caught it, but there was no kinder agent on the planet, and that counted for more.
 

By the time Janet left, she was even smiling tremulously. Darcy hoped it was enough.
 

Next up, Will. A harder conversation. Darcy knocked on the bedroom door and opened it without waiting. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t raise his gaze from the blueprints spread out across the bed. “No, I don’t think we do.”

She came into the room. “We do. I’m not going to let you have this place. It’s my home, and I earned it.”

He glanced up at this, then back down again, his lips tight like he was sealing in harsh words.
 

“You were willing to talk ten minutes ago. ‘What do we do?’ you said. And then you left. Well, what
do
we do now?”

“
You’re
going to leave my bedroom. Then you’ll come to your senses and realize you’re being petulant and competitive and you don’t even want this condo that much. Then you’ll let Janet find you a standard-issue luxury condo with a view of the ocean and five fast-food joints within a one-block radius.”
 

He drew a careful line on a pictured bedroom layout. She suspected it was for show, to illustrate how little he cared about this conversation. His mouth was a bitter curve. “After which, you and I will never lay eyes on each other again. You’ll rise through the executive ranks at Golden Organics, which will no longer be even remotely organic or healthy, but you’ll never tell the public that. You’ll simply live happily ever after on your mountain of cash and leave me in peace.”

Wow. Judgmental much? She sat down on the bed. “What if I told you I didn’t do it? That I never authorized triclosate or any other adulterant? That I’ll find out what went down? If it’s true, if it happened, then someone at the factory will know. It shouldn’t be impossible to find out. And then, assuming it is true, I could find out how it came about and—and make sure the people responsible are fired. Would you forgive me then? Would you consider moving out and letting me have the place?”
 

“Is that all you care about? Winning this battle?”

Gah. He didn’t get it at all. Or didn’t want to, more like. “What if you’re wrong about me? What if I didn’t do it? Have you even considered that?”

He stared at her for a long moment. It felt like he was dismantling her, turning her inside out and looking for blemishes. She felt more naked under his gaze now than she had last night in the heat of the fight. His irises were a changeable mix of blue shot with streaks of brown and green. Unfathomable, like the man himself.
 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?” She was startled from her reverie.
 

“You work for an organic, all-natural, body-nurturing skin care company and yet you live like you don’t care about any of that. You’re on the phone constantly, dialing into work every spare second. It was never about the lotion for you, not about making the best product for gentle massage and soothing cracked skin. No, it was about whatever helps Darcy Jennings climb to the top of the ladder. Can you deny that?”

She squirmed. There was a seed of truth in his words, but all twisted around. Like a warped mirror, distorting who she was. Was that really how he saw her? “What’s wrong with being driven? You make it sound like a curse word, but it’s what gets things done. I’m good at my job, and I’m proud of that. Besides, you’re one to talk. You stole from the company.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“That account was dry after you left.”

He shrugged. “I had my reasons.”

“So you don’t deny it?”

He stood up, sliding his papers back into a big portfolio. “Is that what you came in to talk about? It’s ancient history. I left the company. You didn’t. End of story. Leave the condo, and we’ll be even.”

Ugh. It was like talking to a stone-cold statue, immoveable and unyielding. Fine. She’d take a different approach. “If we’ll be living togeth— I mean, coexisting, we need some ground rules. For example, what happened earlier? When I was in that conference? Never again. Knock on the door. Wait until I say okay to enter. Never talk to me while I’m on a business call. I’ll abide by the same rules. If you need privacy, put a sign up on the door, and I’ll respect it. Furthermore—”
 

He smiled, but it was all teeth and no humor. “You want rules? Here are some rules. Clean up your messes, leave your shoes by the door, and don’t try to lock me out if I want to sit on the patio or even go down to the water.”

“I— That last one—”

He looked at her.

She had to bend somewhere, right? “All right, fine. Agreed.”

Chapter Six

Will thought of himself as a patient man. He had to be in his line of work. Permits meant red tape and bureaucracy, vendors were often back-ordered, clients changed their minds on an almost hourly basis. He could wait out one Darcy Jennings, no matter how infuriating—

Scratch that, he wasn’t infuriated. Will didn’t get infuriated, or if he did, he quickly got it under control.
 

No, he was merely concerned. After all, no matter how much she invaded his home, his life, even his brain, he could wait her out. She’d get bored eventually.
 

Will was a nonviolent man. He made a point of remaining calm, unstressed. No point in yelling, no point in stomping around like a bear. He and his sister had been forced to grow up fast. There was no point in being angry about it; it was just life. To survive, you had to keep a level head. Be in peak condition. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. You had to let events spin themselves out, watch for opportunity, be flexible. You had to let go of emotion; it only led you astray.
 

Will wasn’t very good at letting go, so he usually didn’t grab on too hard in the first place. He dropped clients if they were too needy. Every time a woman wanted more from him—more intimacy, more passion—he gently disengaged. And until now, he’d never owned his own place. He’d preferred to pick up and move on if things didn’t work out, not have his heart broken and stomped all over because he was the fool who stayed.
 

No, he wasn’t much on attachment, and that was the smart way to be.
 

This too would pass. Darcy would leave.
 

He picked up his dinner dishes from the dining table and headed to the kitchen. Darcy was still sitting on the patio, arms around her knees, her mystery meat a cold lump on her plate. The sliding glass door was closed. She looked in at him for a moment. A strand of hair fell forward onto her cheek. He turned his back and started scrubbing the skillet.
 

No emotion. No reaction. No response. Not anger, not lust. Nothing. That was his way. That was what worked.

~*~

Will hadn’t said a single word to Darcy after their talk in the bedroom. They’d eaten their separate meals—she had to admit, his salmon and braised greens looked far more appetizing than her warmed-up hamburger on a soggy bun—and then he worked on his computer at the glass dining table until he started yawning. Then he simply, wordlessly, shut it down, set it on the table, and headed off to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
 

Darcy stared after him in dismay. That wasn’t his bedroom. It was just as much hers. Or, well, it might be. They should have at least discussed it.
 

And no, the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with the fact that it was night, and that reminded her all too vividly of last night, and that—well, that was insanity was what it was. Because sex with him led absolutely nowhere. He’d probably toss her if she suggested it.
 

Not that she was tempted. But if she had been…
 

Great, now she had a throbbing ache between her thighs, her stupid body betraying her. He was hot, no question, and sex last night had been incandescent. Insane but wildly passionate. But he was the enemy, and one did not fraternize with the enemy.
 

She grabbed an oversized shirt out of the suitcase she’d stashed behind the couch and headed to the bathroom with her toiletries kit. Yawning, she opened the bathroom door, the one from the living room—
 

And got a surprise. Which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. People getting ready for bed usually shed most of their clothes before brushing their teeth and such. But still. He was in the bathroom. Squirting toothpaste onto a toothbrush. Half-naked. Not wearing a shirt. No pants either. Just a thin pair of boxers.
 

 
A different pair from this morning. These were plaid, with narrow yellow-and-black stripes running through thicker red ones. Thicker. That was a word she should probably banish from her mind right now. Because those thick muscular thighs, not to mention a thickening cock, visible in outline through the fabric, um, yeah.